


Five Days Out Of Peter Maximoff's Life

by Malfoysdarkness



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Hurt Pietro Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff Feels, The scenes from Peter's perspective, basically Peter's thoughts, but thats my thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:22:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25209154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoysdarkness/pseuds/Malfoysdarkness
Summary: Peter Maximoff has five worst days of his life so far, and the last one really takes the cake.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	Five Days Out Of Peter Maximoff's Life

Day one - 1973

"You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon." 

Those words had alighted a fire in Peter's mind, burning with excitement and thrill. A prison break was one thing, but breaking into the most secure building in the entire US? That sounded like the coolest thing Peter could do. It was better than stealing Twinkies and Ding-Dongs, that was for certain. 

Peter went with them, obviously. He wasn't going to miss this opportunity, especially not if it meant he could prove himself. Those guys seemed pretty weird, but Peter himself was weird. He probably fitted in great. He didn't take a detour round to explore, as much as he wanted to. He was there on a mission, and he knew there was no going back if they were caught. 

Getting the guy out was easy. Peter had only used his hands as a source of vibration a few times, but he hadn't expected it to work so well. He didn't know who the man was, only that he was in there for serious reasons. He seemed pretty normal, though. Normal in Peter's eyes. He could have been a complete freak. 

When they were in the lift up, Peter dared ask the question. "So what'd you do, man? Why'd they have you in there?" 

His question was ignored, so he asked again. The man rolled his eyes, still looking dizzy from Peter's speed. It usually made Peter laugh to see people so unused to it, as it never affected him, of course. He felt more comfortable being fast. Everyone else moved way too slow. 

"For killing the president." 

Shit. Peter blinked, shaking his head with a slightly bemused expression on his head. Okay, maybe the guy was a little bit of a weirdo, like the rest of them. Peter would never kill anyone, of course, but there must have been a reason, right? 

"They said you control metal," Peter said in leu of a reply. In truth, he didn't really know what to say to Erik's explanation. What were you supposed to say when someone admits they killed someone? 

Hang on. Metal? Confusion flashed through Peter's mind and he hesitated, peering carefully at the older man. He felt strangely comfortable around the guy, as if he could tell him his darkest secrets. 

Ugh, that wasn't the man's power, was it? That would be super disgusting. Peter shook his head, taking a small step away. He spoke his thoughts aloud, to hopefully make more sense of them. 

"You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that," Peter shrugged, glancing once more at the other man, hoping to see a reaction, aside from clear focus and slight discomfort. There was none. It didn't appear the guy had even heard him. Oh well. It's not like it really mattered to Peter anyway. 

When the lift doors opened and the guy was punched in the face by Xavier, Peter barely saw it happen. He was thinking hard, faster than he had ever thought before. He broke down every conversation he'd had with his mom, analysing them in detail. Anything she'd spoken about the metal-manipulating man. There wasn't much, but enough to know the guy had brought his mother a lot of sadness. What could that mean? 

As they stepped out of the lift, Peter's breath hitched in his throat. Guns. Many of them, pointing straight at them. He could slow everything, of course, save them, but he felt momentarily frozen in place, as if he was caught under his own spell. Peter had gotten into a lot of scrapes in the past, but never ended up with a gun pointed straight at his chest. 

He only unfroze when he heard the gunshots. Everything paused, the bullets only just leaving the barrel. Peter gave himself a few of his own seconds to breathe, before he began. The guys needed his help, that's why they brought him along. Not for him to become an angsty teen halfway through. He had to complete the mission and get the man back in one piece. As he carefully moved the bullets out of his direction, Peter looked into the man's face, trying to trace a resemblance. He supposed people didn't always look like their fathers. At a first glance, they were nothing alike. 

Forcing himself to get a grip, Peter zipped back to the other side of the room once he knew everything was dealt with. Once done, he let time return to normal. He switched off his music, the song only just fading, and watched the shocked faces of the other three members of his group. Logan was smiling. As they passed him, only he spoke, patting Peter on the shoulder. 

"Thanks, kid." 

Peter went home that night and cried into his pillow like a baby. He didn't know how to feel. 

-

Day two - 1973

"We are the future. We are the ones who inherit this earth and anyone who stands in our way, will suffer the same fate as the men you see before you." 

Fuck. Why did Peter have to have such messed up parents? One was a recovering alcoholic, who left her young daughter in Peter's charge all the time. The other was a homicidal maniac, who killed one president and planned to kill another. What the hell was Peter going to turn out like? 

He didn't want Wanda to watch, but she had put on the TV, dancing around in her fairy costume to the music, until it stopped for the news. Erik Lehnsherr was on the news. Magneto, as Peter reminded himself. The idiot wanted to be called Magneto. When he had turned up on the small screen, Peter's blood ran cold. Once again, he felt frozen to the spot, as if someone had poured a bucket of iced water on him. Frozen in shock, fear, horror, pain, anger. 

He was almost shaking. Peter barely felt Wanda climb into his lap. He simply stared at the television, trying to stop his eyes from blurring. He held Wanda to his chest, half to protect her from the man on the screen and half to force his mind to start working again. He hated Magneto. The bastard wasn't even grateful that Peter had gotten him out. He didn't even think for a second that maybe, maybe he had family out there. A son. A son who just wanted to be loved. Okay, maybe he didn't hate him. But he certainly harboured a lot of resentment towards the guy. 

"No more hiding. No more suffering. You have lived in the shadows of shame and fear for too long." 

He had a point there, Peter supposed, trying to think rationally, though it was never his strong suit. Peter had always thought he was the only one of his kind, until Logan, Xavier and Hank had turned up in his basement, asking for help. It was super weird, but Peter felt safe with them. They were like him. He guessed his father had felt the same way, though he had gone about it all wrong, of course. Peter understood the need for acceptance, but couldn't he have just made a mutant club, or something? Taking it out on humans was a little bit too far. 

"Turn it off." 

Peter tore his eyes away to see his mother standing in the doorway, a glass of whiskey in her hand like usual. Peter didn't reply, he simply turned his gaze back to the television. On the day he returned from the Pentagon, he had drilled her with questions about his father. When he'd asked as a child, she'd never told him much more than 'we were better off without him'. That wasn't helpful at all. 

She eventually caved, after Peter begged her to speak for more than two hours. An incredibly long time for him to be doing one thing. She told him about their romance, their marriage. They had been happy. Happy, until a fire had torn them apart. They had lost their daughter. Peter's mother had left him after that. She stated that it was Magneto's fault, but never explained why. To a child, that might have been enough, but Peter wanted to know more. He wanted to know what the infamous Magneto was like as a father. How he had been with Peter's late sister. 

"I'm not turning it off," Peter replied quietly, hugging Wanda to his chest as he stared at the screen. Wanda didn't seem to notice the pain in his eyes, and she soon wriggled out of his arms, bored of the news. She was just a kid, after all. Peter stayed, arms wrapping around his knees instead. He stayed long after Magneto's speech ended, long after the blue chick had knocked him out. He stayed, staring at that one pixel on the television, until his mother stepped over and switched it off. The room went silent. 

Peter didn't move. He ached from staying in one position for ages, but he daren't even blink. His mind was moving too fast for even him to figure out. He could feel his mother's gaze, boring into him from his right. He simply gripped his legs tighter, pulled up to his chest. It was so quiet, all Peter could hear was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the sound of his mother's breathing. She was waiting for him to speak, but Peter wasn't about to start the conversation. 

"You now see what he is really like," she said, after what felt like millenia. Peter sucked in a slow breath, feeling his stiff muscles contract as he rolled his shoulders.

"All I see is a guy fighting for his rights," Peter replied, voice a little hoarse. It made him feel weaker. "Fighting for my rights." 

He almost felt his mother roll her eyes. She turned away, finishing her drink and leaving the room. He heard her walk into the kitchen, heard the clink of the bottle on the edge of the glass, heard liquid pouring. Of course, she would get drunk. It was her own cruel way of getting him to look after Wanda, when she was too lazy to. For that, Peter hated her. But how could he hate his parents? They were in pain, both of them. They each had ways of coping, even if neither of them were the best. 

Slowly, as if underwater, Peter straightened up, shifting his aching body and following her into the kitchen. He watched her for a few seconds as she drank the whiskey, leaning against the counter. "Mom?" Peter swallowed, suddenly realising all he wanted was a hug. "Is that why you hate him? Because he was to blame for Anya's death?" 

His mother sighed, capping the whiskey bottle and putting it back in the cupboard. She took several more sips of her glass before raising her eyes to Peter. "No, Peter. I hate him because he could have followed. He knew I was pregnant with you, he could have come after and been your father. But he didn't." 

"He was dealing with his own stuff, just like you were! You can't blame him for not following you when you left, mom," Peter's voice cracked, but he couldn't stop now. "I-I don't know how I feel about him, but you can't make me hate him. He's my dad." 

He's my dad. Fuck, he's my dad. 

Turning away, Peter disappeared into his basement, shutting the door behind him. 

-

Day three - 1983

"Wanda, what have you done!" 

Peter awoke to the sound of yelling from two floors above him. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Peter pulled on a clean shirt and jeans before running upstairs. Usually, if his mother yelled, it wasn't exactly Wanda's fault. She had a habit of knocking things over by accident. She was pretty clumsy, like Peter. This time, however, it was a little more than a broken lamp. He paused on the landing outside Wanda's bedroom, seeing the scorch marks on her carpet and up the walls. 

Wanda was sat on her bed, hands hiding her face. Their mother looked shocked and angry, but Peter moved past her and knelt down beside the bed. "Hey, cookie," he smiled softly, and she peeked out at him through her fingers. That nickname was from when she was a toddler, and it had stuck. 

"You okay?" He asked and she shook her head. Peter moved to sit beside her, pulling her into his lap, even though she wasn't so small anymore. "Want to tell me about it? It must have been one hell of a nightmare."

"It wasn't a nightmare. There was a spider on the floor and it scared me," she whispered back, into his shoulder. Peter glanced back across at the scorch marks on the floor. Wanda had no candles in her room, nothing that could make those kind of marks. There was only one thing that made sense. Wanda was a mutant. A slight tremble of excitement ran down Peter's spine, but he forced it back. If her powers made the marks, she could be pretty dangerous. Neither Peter nor their mom was able to protect her or anyone else if it happened again. 

"Okay, I understand," Peter replied, chin against her forehead. He glanced around, hoping an idea might spark to his mind. Nothing. He didn't know what to do. Wanda simply clung to him and Peter eventually carried her downstairs to eat breakfast, coaxing her to eat her cereal, once she had detached from his body. Peter whizzed around the kitchen, using the time to think as he made tea, fixed himself up a mountain of toast and switched on the radio. 

He made Wanda giggle as he danced around the kitchen, using a spatula as a microphone. The songs on the radio were cheesy, but Peter knew them anyway. He loved music, it made him happy. Once she'd finished her breakfast, Wanda joined him, pretending to do karaoke together with kitchen utensils. They only stopped when their mom entered the room, ignoring them both and making herself a black coffee. 

She wouldn't have stopped them having fun, but both their happiness deflated when she drifted in and out of the room like a ghost. Wanda glanced at Peter. "She's not happy with me because I ruined my room." 

Peter shrugged, taking a large bite of one of his toast slices, forcing himself to be the strong one. He wasn't even eighteen yet, but he had to be the adult in the family. He had to be the person Wanda could depend on. "I ruin my room all the time, you shouldn't worry too much about it," he smiled. "Mom gave up replacing the welcome mat years ago. She eventually forgets to notice things." 

Wanda sat up on the counter, swinging her legs. "It feels weird," she said, looking down at her hands. "Like my hands are filled with energy, buzzing with electricity. Is that how it felt for you?" 

Peter hesitated. When he'd first got his powers, it had been pandemonium. The entire house had been trashed. It had felt to Peter like the whole world had slowed down around him. He didn't understand what was going on. He had been so scared, running around crying, until he'd eventually brought himself back into a normal pace. He'd left the house a wreck, and that had been the day his mother had given up on him. He was seven. 

"Yeah, I guess. My legs felt all wobbly and weird, and as they're my main power, I suppose that's why your hands would be the same. Do you make fire, then? Is that what the scorch marks were from?" 

Wanda shook her head. "No, I...I don't exactly know what it was. Some kind of red-pink light, all swirly and glittery. It frightened the spider, made it run and I couldn't control the powers," she looked down and Peter glanced over. He was instantly by her side, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

"Look, you're not alone, Wanda. I'm going to help you. There are people who can help you. I promise." 

-

Day four - 1983

Peter's legs were shaking with exhaustion. He hadn't eaten in ages and was almost lost in the dense Polish forest. Desperation made him run faster. He couldn't be late this time. This time he knew where Magneto was, knew where he would be. Peter stumbled over a tree root again, this time it sent him tumbling to the ground. Panting heavily, all Peter wanted to do was curl up on the ground and sleep for hours, but he forced himself to stand up again, keep running. He had to get there. 

When he reached the small cottage, Peter felt like crying with relief. He pushed open the door, a little wary in case flying knives came towards his head. Nothing. The house felt empty. Just to be sure, Peter checked the upstairs rooms. A suitcase sat on the bed, half packed, but no one around. They must have left in a hurry. Peter swallowed, mouth dry. He let himself take a few seconds and drink from the tap in the kitchen, before he pushed out the back door, scanning the treeline for any movement. 

Nothing. 

Peter began to lose hope, but the thought of the suitcase on the bed, and the car in the driveway still kept him moving. Magneto couldn't be far away. Pushing through the edge of the forest, Peter hesitated when he heard a shout. He surged forward, only to stop in his tracks at the sight before him. It was a sight that only existed in Peter's worst nightmares. 

Magneto was there, clinging to a pair of bodies on the ground. They were motionless, and Peter felt dizzy with horror. The man appeared to be sobbing, holding the two people tight to his chest. A small group of police officers stood nearby, looking incredibly guilty. Peter could only watch as a small piece of metal appeared out of nowhere, flying through the air and piercing through each of the mens' necks. The metal piece flew back to Magneto's hand, and he collapsed, arms around the deceased against his chest. 

Peter hid himself behind a tree, his heart thumping so loud he was sure Magneto would hear him. What on earth had he witnessed? A small noise came from the other side of the tree and Peter peered around carefully, feeling a wave of sickness overcome him as he watched. Magneto gently laid the two people on the ground. A young woman and a child, no older than eight. Fuck no. It couldn't have been Magneto's family, could it? 

Peter swallowed, leaning heavily against the tree for support. Magneto slowly straightened up, pulling away from them. He whispered a few words quietly before he began to walk away, his body visibly shaking. He walked in the opposite direction to Peter, and within several minutes, he'd melted into the surrounding mist. Peter let out a choked sob once he realised he was alone, sinking down to his knees on the other side of the tree. 

Peter half walked, half crawled across to the pair lying peacefully on the ground, his tears falling freely now. He saw the metal ring on the young woman's finger and closed his eyes, sitting down beside them. Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking as he looked them over. "I'm so sorry." 

Late again. As always. 

-

Day five - 1983

Okay, out of every bad day Peter had, this was definitely the worst. When he had arrived at the mansion, fully hoping to find the professor, and ask him about Magneto, and Wanda's powers, the mansion exploded. Peter barely allowed himself to think, focusing solely on saving everyone inside. Of course, he'd failed even that. Scott's brother had died in the process. That was only the beginning of Peter's bad day. 

Not even five minutes after the explosion, Peter was kidnapped along with several other mutants he'd only just met. Great. Just great. They were rescued, but Peter was thrown right into a war zone immediately after, with only a vague hope that he'd see Magneto. Everything after that was a blur. 

He didn't tell Magneto the truth. He didn't know why. He just chickened out. Maybe it all would have been better if he had. Maybe he wouldn't have ended up in such a bad way if the guy had helped out sooner, but something stopped him from saying those three simple words, 'you're my dad'. 

Nope. Instead, Peter was now in the death-like grip of the big man himself, his head pulled back by his hair. Everything was burning. Oh, and his leg was broken too. Peter tried to think of it in a casual, lighthearted way, to stop himself getting too frightened, but he couldn't sugar coat it for himself. He was terrified. He couldn't move. Never before had his powers been taken from him in such a cruel way. Peter hardly noticed the pain now, but he knew once the shock wore off, the pain would set in, in a big way. 

Fuck. The bondage brunette was coming. She was walking closer, her sword spinning in her hand. As Apocalypse tugged his head back, exposing his throat, Peter's eyes widened. He was going to die. He was going to die. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. He was going to die, right there. Away from his family, away from Wanda. Wanda didn't even know where he was. She was at school, for fucks sake. She didn't know he was so far away from home, about to die. His leg flared up in pain and Peter whimpered, seeing the sword draw ever closer. He was going to die. She was going to kill him. He was going to die in front of everyone. 

Why didn't Magneto help him? Where was he? If Peter had told him the truth, the man would be there. He would save Peter, and stop Apocalypse. But he wasn't there. There was no one to save Peter. He breathed out, shaking with fear and adrenaline. He'd burned off all the snacks he'd eaten earlier in the day, felt exhaustion running through his bones. He couldn't defeat Apocalypse. This was his time to do the noble thing. 

Okay. Okay. He could do this. If his death meant the others could stop Apocalypse, then he would do it. Peter shut his eyes tight, accepting his fate. He waited for the blow, waited for death. His heart was racing like a jackrabbit and his hair felt half pulled out. He heard the swish of the sword, but felt no pain. She hadn't done it. Peter dared a glance upwards, and his eyes widened. Psylocke had attempted to kill Apocalypse instead, not Peter. The slit across his throat slowly closed up and he dropped Peter's head, causing him to slump to the floor. It was Raven, she was disguised as Psylocke. 

Peter panted heavily, his body trembling with shock as his head dipped against the ground. He couldn't keep himself up, he couldn't even move an inch without crying in pain. He'd never felt anything like it. Despite all his clumsiness Peter had never broken a bone in his life. The pain was astronomical. He shifted his good leg in the ground, it was stuck fast, he couldn't get out. Still, Peter tried. If this wasn't his time to die, then it wasn't Raven's, either. He had to save her. He couldn't let anyone else die because of his actions. Because he was too late. 

He was always too late. As Raven suffocated above him, Peter shut his eyes, silently begging his father for help, and a support that he never knew he needed. No help came from his father, and even when it did, it was almost too late. Always too late. Perhaps it was a family trait. 

In the end, they all lived to tell the tale but Peter was never the same again. He went to live at the mansion with the others, though almost every night he was plagued with nightmares. Being unable to move, frozen to the spot. Having his legs broken over and over, until they never healed again. Each time he woke up crying, but simply pushed his face into his pillow and hid from the world until the morning light forced him up. He had to keep going, he had to keep waking up. For Wanda. For Erik. For his new friends at the mansion, who liked him for who he was. He had to keep going for them, despite the never ending pain in his heart. 

He was determined to never be too late again. 


End file.
